


Praise Be to Those Who Sacrifice

by ohdobertell



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Canon Compliant, M/M, Reibert Secret Santa 2018, Reibert Week 2018, Spoilers up to Chapter 106
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-29
Updated: 2018-12-29
Packaged: 2019-09-29 17:40:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,544
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17207930
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ohdobertell/pseuds/ohdobertell
Summary: Reiner was 5 years old when he asked his mother what 'sacrifice' meant--but he doesn't truly learn the meaning of the word until he's 21, standing in front of a funeral pyre, staring into its flames.Written for @perfectackeracy, as part of the Reibert Secret Santa 2018. Hope you enjoy! I chose your "angsty Reiner in Marley" prompt :)





	Praise Be to Those Who Sacrifice

**Author's Note:**

> Happy Holidays, @perfectackeracy!

Reiner was 5 years old when he asked his mother what ‘sacrifice’ meant.

The two of them stood behind their cart at market square, waiting for their first customers of the day to arrive. Dawn had yet to break. Reiner rearranged the loaves of bread on the cart, suddenly not wanting to meet his mother’s eyes. His questions sometimes sent tears falling down her cheeks—or a hand across his face.

Another moment passed. The silence sent his heart racing.

 “You want to know what ‘sacrifice’ means?” she asked finally, her voice mocking, but otherwise pleasant. He kept his eyes fixed on the bread, but laughed nervously at her question.

“Yes, Mama. We say it everyday during Morning Praises, but I don’t know what it means.”

“Ah, yes, we do indeed say it during Morning Praises. You’re very clever to notice, dear. Why don’t you recite the line for Mama?”

Reiner beamed at her praise. Eager to keep her spirits high, he turned to face north, making sure to keep his back straight and his feet together. With one hand over his heart and the other in a salute, he began:

“Praise be to those who sacrifice their blood to Marley, for they shall have redemption! Praise be to those who sacrifice their blood to the Motherland, for they shall have blessing!”   

His mother clapped as he finished. “Very good, my darling, very good!“ 

Reiner let out an exhale, feeling giddy at the sight of her bright eyes.

“Since you’ve been such a good boy for Mama, I’ll tell you what ‘sacrifice’ means—but you have to come close, because it’s a secret.”

“A secret?”

“Yes, my darling,” she whispered, suddenly serious. “Come closer, and I’ll tell you.”

Reiner closed the space between them with a leap. His mother laughed, and reached out her hands to tickle him. As he burst into his own fit of laughter, she pulled his small, squirming  body onto her lap and planted kisses all over his hair and cheeks.

Once his squeals had subsided, she hugged him close and brought her lips to his ear. “So you want to know what ‘sacrifice’ means?”

“Yes, Mama.”

“Sacrifice means love, dear. It means we love our beloved Marley so much that we give everything we have to Her—even our lives. Do you understand?”

Reiner didn’t answer. She adjusted him in her arms and continued: “When you were born, I gave everything I had to you, because I loved you. I gave you the best food I had, the best clothes, the best medicine...I sacrificed _everything_ in my life to you.”

“I’m sorry, Mama.”

“No need to be sorry, dear. Just be a good boy and listen to your Mama. Do you understand what I’m saying?”  

Reiner remained silent. The sudden seriousness in her voice left him unsure of what she wanted him to say. He began to slide his body off her lap, wanting to go back to rearranging the bread—but he felt her tighten her arms around him before his feet could even touch the ground.

“Do you love me, Reiner?”

“Yes!” He said quickly.

 “Do you love Marley?”

 “Yes!”

“Then you must give everything you have to us.” Her arms around him had become like iron, and her voice like steel. Reiner struggled in her arms, trying to break free.  “If you love something, you must give it everything you have.”

~~~~~

Reiner was 7 years old when he first saw Bertolt.

They stood some distance apart, but Reiner could immediately see that he had no family with him. Mothers and fathers surrounded every other child about to start their first day of training, but Bertolt stood alone.

Once the Marleyan soldiers sent all the parents away and herded the children past the gates, Reiner ran toward him. When he got close, he touched the other boy’s hand to get his attention.

“Where’s your mama?”

Bertolt turned to face him. He studied his face for a moment before answering. “I don’t have one. I only have a papa, but he’s sick and at home.”

“You don’t have one? How is that possible?”

Bertolt looked away. Reiner could see that he had done something wrong, and he shuffled his feet awkwardly. He touched the boy’s hand again, hoping to make amends.

“I’m Reiner,” he blurted out, a nervous smile on his face. “What’s your name?”

Bertolt’s eyes remained focused ahead of them, where the Marleyan soldiers were beginning to line up to lead them in Morning Praises. “Bertolt.”

“Bert--olt,” Reiner repeated, sounding it out. “That’s a funny name.”

Bertolt laughed, and Reiner laughed along with him--though more out of relief than anything else. Whatever he had done to upset him seemed to have been forgotten.

“It _is_ a funny name,” Bertolt agreed, and Reiner could hear the smile in his voice. Bertolt turned to look at him, as if he wanted to say something else--but then the Morning Praises started, and Reiner immediately turned to face north with his back straight and legs together.

“ _Praise be to those who sacrifice their blood to Marley, for they shall have redemption!_

 _Praise be to those who sacrifice their blood to the Motherland, for they shall have blessing_!”   

Reiner kept his body facing north all throughout the Morning Praises, hoping to impress the Marleyan soldiers--but his eyes looked toward the west, to where Bertolt stood.

~~~~~

Reiner was 12 years old when he swore he would not let another person sacrifice themselves for his sake.

He swore it to himself as he watched Bertolt and Annie sleep. The three of them had reached the refugee camp hours earlier, and he had insisted that they sleep while he kept watch. Bertolt had protested, saying that they should all sleep. But Reiner could hardly allow that. They were among their victims, after all,  and had yet to confront the Founder--someone had to keep watch. 

When the two of them finally fell asleep, Reiner’s vision blurred with tears. As he allowed them to spill over, he swore to himself that Marcel would be the last person to ever sacrifice anything for him. He would protect Annie and Bertolt; he would make sure they got home together, even if it meant that he had to stay behind or die. Yes--he would not let either of them sacrifice anything for him. His poor mother had sacrificed her happiness for him, and now Marcel...

“Reiner,” Bertolt whispered. “What’s wrong?”

Reiner jumped at the sound of his voice.  He quickly wiped his eyes with the back of his hand. “Nothing. Go back to sleep, Bertl.”  

Bertolt continued to stare at him, and Reiner thought he might start crying again. He wished he would just go to sleep.

“We’ll  be home soon, Reiner. You’ll see.”

Reiner didn’t trust his voice in that moment, and so said nothing.  When he didn’t answer, Bertolt reached a hand out and closed it around his wrist. “We’ll be home soon,” he repeated.

 ~~~~~

Bertolt’s hand reached for his again the next night.

 An illness had already spread through the refugee camp. Coughs and groans echoed throughout the night, along with muffled sobbing. Bertolt had insisted on taking the first watch, but Reiner found himself struggling to fall asleep anyway. The two of them lay awake together, listening to the sound of Annie’s breathing.

 “You don’t need to be the leader,” Bertolt suddenly whispered.

 Reiner felt his heart stop. 

“I mean...I should have said something when you and Annie….I just mean, you...we...it’s not your fault what happened.” Bertolt’s  voice broke on the last word. “We all ran.” 

Reiner remained quiet for a moment, thinking over his words. “You don’t think I should be the leader?”

“I just mean...you don’t need to protect us.”

 “You don’t think I can?”

“That’s not what I said. I just meant…”

Reiner waited for Bertolt to continue, unsure if he could even bear to hear the rest. He knew Annie thought little of him, but he couldn’t take it if Bertolt did too. Then he felt Bertolt take his hand in his, as if in apology. Reiner adjusted his own hand so that their fingers were laced together. “I’m sorry, Reiner--forget I said anything.”

~~~~~

After that, the two of them held hands together almost every night. 

The Garrison moved quickly to split the refugees into work camps. As children, they were assigned to work with some carpenters in one of the major cities of Wall Rose--but once their physical capabilities became obvious, they were re-assigned to work in the forest, helping lumberjacks fell trees to clear land for the construction of new homes. This arrangement suited them: the crowds of the major city kept them anonymous, as did the near total seclusion of the forest.

Bertolt remained quiet during the day. He worked diligently, and only said what was necessary when speaking with their employers and the few other refugees assigned to their section of the forest.

At night, however, when he laid next to Reiner, he often spoke of home: of its forests, its mountains, and what few memories he still had of his father. With Reiner’s hand in his, he spoke almost freely, and Reiner loved to watch his eyes light up as he repeated a joke he had heard, loved to watch the soft curves of his lips move as he spoke, loved to hear his gentle voice recount stories from his childhood.

No longer packed into a refugee camp, the two of them no longer had any need to be huddled so close--but they preferred it that way, even during the summer months. On nights where one of them ventured into the capital, to help Annie collect information on the Royal Family, they found that they did not sleep as well.

Through their nightly conversations, Reiner learned that Bertolt used to raise goats with his father.

“We had three, and we kept them all in the front yard with the dog,” he whispered one night when Reiner asked about them.  “I had to take care of them when papa got sick. I loved all of them, but I especially loved Mika. She had brown fur all over, except for a small patch by her belly, which was white.”

 Reiner smiled. “You’ll see Mika again soon, Bertl. I promise.”

 Bertolt’s face fell. “I won’t, actually. Tax collectors took them all away when we had no more money to give them.”

The sudden anger in Bertolt’s voice startled Reiner. Speaking ill of tax collectors carried a punishment in Marley. Bertolt shouldn’t be speaking like this, he thought.  

“You know, they didn’t even wait to slaughter them? They slit all three of their throats right in the yard before loading them onto their trucks. They didn’t even bother to slice Mika properly. The other two suffered only for a few moments, but Mika’s cut wasn’t deep enough...she was still alive when they loaded her into the truck. She must have been in so much pain…”

Reiner squeezed Bertolt’s hand in sympathy. “We’ll get new goats then, when we go home. And we’ll name the first one Mika.”

\-------

Two years passed in the forest like that: hand in hand, huddled close together.

Then they joined the military.

They could no longer speak freely at night, as they once did. Too many listening ears made it impossible. Their hands nonetheless found each other’s at night, and they fell asleep with their fingers laced together, as they always had.

As their weeks in the military turned into months, however, things began to change. Reiner struggled to anchor himself to the mission, unsure for the first time why he wanted to destroy Paradis so badly. Shame filled him every time his tossing and turning at night woke up Bertolt, who somehow always knew the cause of it. Bertolt would stay awake with him until he fell asleep again, sometimes massaging his back until his eyes drifted closed.

Though a part of Reiner felt comforted by Bertolt’s attention, a larger part of him felt ashamed of it. He wished, more than anything, that Bertolt would just let him be. He didn’t want him to see how far he had slipped, to see how weak he truly was. Bertolt had always been the strongest, and Reiner feared the day he realized just how far below him he ranked.

“Reiner,” Bertolt whispered to Reiner’s back one night, just a few hours before dawn. Reiner cursed himself for waking him up yet again. He had sworn that no one would ever sacrifice anything for him, and yet he couldn't seem to stop Bertolt from sacrificing sleep and discrepancy for his sake.

“Reiner, what’s wrong?” Bertolt’s hand closed around his limp wrist and slid down his hand to lace their fingers together.

Reiner grit his teeth. “We’re not kids anymore,” he said as he broke Bertolt’s hold and brought his hand to his chest. His voice came out harsh and unrecognizable, even to his own ears. “Just go to sleep.”

Reiner nearly turned around to offer an apology--but then he held himself. Even when he felt Bertolt’s hand move to his shoulder, urging him to turn so that they might face each other, Reiner held himself still, not daring to turn over. He would not let Bertolt sacrifice another hour of sleep on his account. He would not let him see any weakness.  

 Reiner shrugged Bertolt’s hand off his shoulder. “I said go to sleep.”

 ~~~~~

Bertolt’s hand rarely reached for his again after that night. Reiner had the suspicion that Bertolt still watched over him whenever he tossed and turned at night, but remained withdrawn in order to please him. The thought made Reiner's heart clench. 

~~~~~

The last time they slept next to each other was the night before the Scouts arrived in Shiganshina.

“I promise you, Bertl,” Reiner said, as he laid down next to him in their tent, leaving some distance between them.  “I promise that you and Annie will make it back.”

“With you,” Bertolt added quickly.

Reiner said nothing. He knew how weak he truly was now, after losing to Eren, and then to Commander Erwin. He doubted that he would survive yet another confrontation with the two, much less if Captain Levi was with them--but he would make sure that his promise was kept. He would make sure that Bertolt and Annie survived.

His silence seemed to disturb Bertolt, who suddenly sat up on his pallet of blankets. Reiner turned his face away before Bertolt could catch his eye.  

“You’re going back to Marley, Reiner.”

Bertolt’s  voice, usually soft, had a thickness to it that Reiner had never heard before.  He felt Bertolt staring at him, but he stubbornly kept his face turned away. As the seconds passed, he began to catch parts of Pieck and Zeke’s conversation taking place just outside their tent. He wondered absently when the dawn would finally break.

“Look at me, Reiner.”  

Reiner felt Bertolt’s hand on his cheek, gently urging him to turn his head. 

And so he did.

When their eyes met, Reiner’s heart nearly stopped. Bertolt looked at him with such intensity, as if he were committing each part of his face to memory. Reiner found himself doing the same. He drank in the sight of the creases on his forehead, the slope of his nose, the curve of his eyes, the shape of his eyes. A face he knew better better than his own, better than any other’s.

“Reiner...we used to always speak about what we would do when we made it back. In all our daydreams, we were always together, weren’t we?”

“We were kids,” he countered simply.  “We dreamed the way kids do.”

Reiner regretted his words as soon as he saw the hurt enter Bertolt’s eyes. He opened his mouth to apologize, but Bertolt continued: “We dreamed about living on one of Marley’s mountainsides...where the air would be cool, and the water fresh. I would raise goats, and you would make bread, like you used to do with your mother...and we would be together.”

Reiner laughed bitterly. “As if warriors would be allowed such a simple life.” He winced as he realized the cruelty in what he had said. Why could he not seem to just let Bertolt speak?  “I’m sorry, Bertl, I’m so--”

Bertolt suddenly cupped Reiner’s face with both hands. Reiner immediately fell silent.

“I want to do everything we said, Reiner. And I want to do it with you.”

They stared at each other for a moment. When Reiner thought of Marley, he thought of Bertolt and Annie arriving there safely, finally reunited with their fathers who loved them. That’s how it should be. That’s what he had promised himself that night five years ago.

“No…” Reiner whispered. It was all wrong how Bertolt had imagined it. “We're not kids anymore, Bertl. You don’t know what you’re saying.”

He pushed Bertolt’s hands away. “We should get some sleep.”

~~~~~

When Reiner woke up, he put on his gear, and prepared himself for death. _Today will be the day I keep my promise_ , he thought as he got into position. _I will sacrifice everything to get Bertolt home_. As he waited for the attack to start, he hummed the Morning Praises to himself.

 ~~~~~

The next time Reiner woke up, he was on a ship bound for Marley.  

“Where’s Bertolt?”

Pieck gave him a sad look.  “You need to focus on regenerating, Reiner.”

 “Pieck, where is he?”    

“You hardly have any limbs left, Reiner. We’ll be arriving in Marley within a few hours.” Her voice dropped to a whisper. “Please, prove to Zeke that you can still regenerate.”

 Reiner’s head pounded. He almost asked his question a third time--but then, memories of the battle rushed in, all at once.

_He had sworn to himself that he would not give the signal. He didn’t want Bertolt involved in the fighting, and he had assured himself that his power, combined with Zeke and Pieck’s, would be enough. Yet, he still gave the signal. Once he realized he had gathered the Scouts all toward him, and that a Colossal transformation right above him would put an immediate end to the fighting, he gave the signal. Yet no transformation came. Only a  gentle hand on his chest, feeling for his heartbeat._

_Bertolt had sacrificed an easy victory...to make sure he survived…he was the one who was supposed to sacrifice himself, and yet Bertolt…._

“Reiner! Reiner, why did you stop regenerating? Reiner! You’re going to start bleeding from your wounds... _Reiner_!”

 Pieck’s voice became a distant sound as Reiner let out a wordless scream.

 ~~~~~

Sleep came rarely to Reiner in the four years since Shiganshina. His body became feverish and sweaty as his titan’s regenerative powers worked nonstop to heal everything that had begun to break down inside.

On most nights, Reiner made no attempt to sleep. He waited until exhaustion caused him to collapse which, during the war, happened without any effort on his part. With the war’s conclusion, however, and his return to Marley, he had to find new ways to exhaust himself. He sparred with Porco when he could, and ran miles on the training grounds every morning. When exhaustion eluded him, he simply passed the night by finishing paperwork, which, for a Vice Commander of Marley, never seemed to run out.

Some nights, he really did try to sleep. He would lay down and close his eyes and take deep breaths--but memories always rushed in: memories of Jean and Connie cheering him on during a drinking game, memories of Ymir goading him into an arm wrestle, memories of Annie’s rare smile. Sometimes, he managed to sleep through those memories, even as they circled his head, shaping his dreams--he would sleep fitfully, but he nonetheless _slept_.

It was memories of Bertolt that sent his eyes flying open, his heart racing, his blood pounding. Even pleasant memories of Bertolt--memories of his gentle voice recounting stories in the dead of night to him, of his eyes crinkling as he laughed at something Reiner had said--forced him to the surface of consciousness, gasping for breath.

He desperately wished he could sleep through his dreams of Bertolt. He missed seeing the light in his eyes at night, the curve of his lips, the small details of his face. He had no photographs to remember him by, and he feared that he might somehow forget him. He even wished to sleep through his nightmares of Bertolt. He could take Bertolt screaming at him, asking him why he had abandoned him, why he had broken his promise to keep him safe. He wanted to see him more than anything; wanted to be judged by him, more than that.

 The clock in the study suddenly struck midnight, pulling him from his thoughts. Reiner sighed and put down his pen.

He had decided earlier that day that he would try to sleep that night no matter what. He had not slept more than four hours in as many days, and the feverish touch of his skin had reached a new intensity. He didn’t want Zeke or Magath to take notice of his worsening condition--and he knew they would if they saw droves of sweat pouring off him in the morning.

He put away the reports he had been working on and blew out the candle. With reluctant steps, he made his way out of the study, across the courtyard, and toward the officers’ quarters, on the other side of the military base.

 As a Vice Commander, he had the luxury of his own private quarters. A small relief. He hardly wanted his subordinates, and much less the Marleyan soldiers, to see him at such hours.

As he entered his room, he kicked off his boots and shrugged off his jacket. He made his way to the small table by his bed, where a wash basin had been left. He broke the thin layer of ice on top, then cupped his hands in the water and splashed it across his face several times. The icy sensation brought relief to his feverish skin. When his face felt almost numb, he took one of the folded pieces of cloth next to the basin and pressed it to his face.

He didn’t bother to change out of his uniform after that. He fell to his bed, and adjusted himself so that he laid on his side, with his face toward the window. His eyes immediately sought the outline of the mountainside in the distance. It was clearly visible this night, with only a full moon to illuminate it and no clouds to block it.

A hand suddenly closed on his wrist. He blinked back tears as he immediately recognized the shape and gentleness of the hand--was he already dreaming? He held his breath, trying his hardest not to wake up. He hardly moved. He felt the hand slide down his wrist so that it could lace its fingers with his own. A gesture he knew well.

 A choked sound escaped him when he felt the hand tighten its hold. How many nights had he denied this hand, how many times had he pushed it away? This hand that had saved him, this hand that had pulled him back to himself when he drifted too far...his heart ached for their days in the forest, for those nights they spent talking freely for hours.

He wanted to keep his hand limp, childishly fearing that any movement would cause the dream to fade--but he couldn’t bring himself to deny this hand yet again. After another second of indecision, he finally adjusted his hand and gave it a squeeze back. Tears brimmed in his eyes as he felt a pulse beneath the wrist, as he became aware of the hand’s warmth, as he felt the thumb begin to rub soothing circles on his skin.

He let out a sob when he became fully aware of the presence laying just behind him. He had forgotten the sound of Bertolt’s breathing, the smell of his skin in the years since Shiganshina--but all those memories came rushing back now as he sensed them all again. He wondered how his mind had conjured such a dream after so many years without him.

Overcome with emotion, forgetting his own fears that he might somehow end the dream, he brought the hand to his lips. With tears streaming down his cheeks, he kissed the back of it.  

He had so much he wanted to say. “I’m sorry,” “forgive me,” “I miss you.”

Instead, all he said was: “I love you.”

He whispered it first, unsure of his own voice. The words felt awkward in his mouth. After all, what did he know of love? He had promised to sacrifice himself for Bertolt, and had failed at that. If love meant giving all you had, then he had given Bertolt nothing. He felt like a child, speaking of things he hardly understood. Yet the words left his mouth again and again, until they hardly sounded like words at all. He said it as he pressed two, three, four more kisses to the back of the hand, then to each knuckle, then to the palm.

When he couldn’t find an unkissed patch of skin, he brought the hand to his chest, laying its pulse above his heart. “I wanted what we dreamed about too,” he whispered brokenly, his eyes on the outline of the mountainside beyond the window. “I wanted it more than anything.”

Reiner wished he could say this while looking into his eyes, the way Bertolt had told him while looking into his. He wanted him to know that he spoke the truth, even if he was just a figment of a dream. He began to turn around to face him--but then stopped. His initial fears returned. He worried that too much movement might pull him back to reality. He told himself to be satisfied with the feel of his hand on his chest; to let the dream progress as it would, without moving. He had never made it this far, and he should accept this gift as it came.

Yet, he wanted more than anything to remember Bertolt’s face. He wanted to re-memorize the shape of his eyes, the slope of his nose, the wave of his hair.

Impulsively, before he could change his mind, he turned around.

There was Bertolt: looking exactly as he did the last day he had seen him. Never had a dream felt so detailed, so real, and he let out another sob. He drank in the sight of him, not knowing when his dreams would deliver him such a miracle again. He studied the curve of his lips, the shape of his cheekbones, and the slope of his nose. When their eyes finally met, another sob escaped him. Bertolt’s eyes looked at him with such adoration, despite everything that had happened. A part of him had half-expected to see anger there, had half-wanted to see it. He had left him behind, after all, and he knew of no other way to be redeemed than to be hated for what he had done.

The sobs couldn’t stop after that. He buried his head in Bertolt’s chest. As his shoulders shook and his tears fell, he breathed in Bertolt’s scent, trying to commit that to memory as well. He felt Bertolt adjust himself so that he could embrace Reiner fully. The hand that he had kissed traveled to the back of his head, stroking his hair.

When the sobs subsided, Reiner looked back up at him. He had never known apparitions to cry, but he couldn’t mistake the tears that stained Bertolt’s cheeks. He instinctively brought his hand to Bertolt’s face to wipe them away. When he did so, Bertolt smiled at him, making Reiner’s heart nearly burst. Bertolt had rarely smiled in the months leading up to Shiganshina; and right now, with the usual tension from his shoulders gone, with his eyes shining, with his lips stretched in a smile, he had never looked so beautiful.  

 Reiner couldn’t help but smile himself at such a sight. The movement of his cheeks sent even more tears spilling from his eyes, but he felt unashamed of them. How many times had he turned away from Bertolt to hide his tears? How many times had he wiped them away before Bertolt could notice? He hardly dared to do that now. He would not squander this precious dream he had been given with his childhood fears. He remained still and unafraid, even as he felt Bertolt’s hands adjust to cup his face. Four years ago, he knew he  would have turned his face away, or, worse, pushed Bertolt’s hands away, like he did that last night they had together. Yet he couldn’t imagine doing such a thing now. He only held Bertolt’s gaze, and allowed himself to enjoy the sensation of Bertolt wiping away his tears.

They laid together like that for a time: looking at one another with almost secretive smiles, as if they were children again. 

The tears had yet to dry from either of their cheeks when Reiner noticed a change in Bertolt’s expression: longing settled just behind the irises, just behind the adoration. Reiner had never held Bertolt’s gaze long enough, or studied it carefully enough, to have seen it before, but he recognized it nonetheless because he knew his own eyes looked at Bertolt the same way.

“I wanted what we dreamed about too,” he whispered again, keeping Bertolt’s gaze, trying to reflect every ounce of longing and adoration he saw in Bertolt’s eyes in his own. “I wanted it more than anything.” 

The words sounded almost like an insult, Reiner realized too late. He had denied his feelings to the living, and was offering them now to a ghost? He grit his teeth, bracing for the dream to twist into one of his nightmares, with Bertolt yelling at him, asking _why, why, why_ ...after all, who was he to try to make amends _now_ , after all this time? He hoped, at least, that he would sleep through the nightmare to its conclusion this time...he couldn’t bear to wake up now, couldn’t bear to be alone now.

Yet, no nightmare came. Instead, the Bertolt in front of him pressed his lips to his cheek. Reiner inhaled sharply, feeling warmth flow through his body. Bertolt pressed another kiss to his cheek, then began making his way to the top of his head, leaving a trail of the gentlest of kisses against the side of his face. When he reached Reiner’s hairline, he moved on top of him, and began another trail down the other side of his face, leaving kisses against his temple, the corner of his eye, his cheek.

Reiner wrapped his arms around Bertolt, holding him in place on top of him. He had never felt so fragile, so precious, as he did then.

When Bertolt’s lips reached the corner of his mouth, he stopped. Reiner could feel his breath on his lips, and another wave of warmth spread through him.

Without having to meet Bertolt’s eyes, Reiner understood why he stopped. Bertolt had always waited for him to catch up, had never taken too many steps ahead of him. Despite how much had changed, some things had stayed the same.

Reiner smiled against Bertolt’s lips. “I love you,” he said simply before closing the space between them.

Their lips met awkwardly at first, but it didn’t take them long to find their rhythm. Without breaking the kiss, Bertolt moved completely on top of Reiner, who instinctively bent his knees and opened his legs further, wanting Bertolt as close as possible. 

Reiner loved the weight of Bertolt on him. He loved the softness of his lips, the smell of his hair, the feel of his  hands on his cheeks. Whenever they broke apart to catch their breaths, Bertolt’s hands stroked his hair, his arms, the outline of his face, and he loved that too. At some point, when he brought his own hand up to cup Bertolt’s cheek, Bertolt covered it with his own hand and then turned his face to kiss his palm. Reiner’s breath caught at the sight. Bertolt mimicked his action from earlier and brought the hand to his lips again and again, kissing each knuckle.

 “I love you,” Reiner repeated.

In place of an answer, Bertolt laced their fingers together: a gesture Reiner understood well enough now to know its meaning. _I love you, too_. Bertolt brought their joined hands beside Reiner’s head, then lowered his lips to Reiner’s once more.  

As the kiss lengthened, pleasure began to build in the pit of Reiner’s stomach. Wanting Bertolt even closer, he pressed his free hand down on the small of Bertolt’s back, and raised his own hips nearly off the bed to roll against his.

Bertolt immediately broke the kiss with a groan. Reiner smiled at the sound, feeling oddly satisfied with the knowledge that he had made it happen. He rolled his hips again, hoping to elicit more. Bertolt laughed at his eagerness, and Reiner laughed too. For the hundredth time that night, he gave thanks to whatever power had given him this night. He had never heard Bertolt’s laugh in any of his dreams, and he felt almost dizzy now to hear it again.

When their laughs subsided, Bertolt released the hand he had pinned by his head and moved it to the first button of his uniform. He looked back up at Reiner, a silent question in his eyes.

Reiner nodded. Bertolt began to unbutton his shirt, leaving a kiss for each newly exposed part of his skin.  Reiner arched his back at the sensation and grit his teeth to hold back a moan.

Reiner had only a vague idea of how this worked. He had seen animals mate before, and he had heard enough crude comments on both Paradis and Marley to piece together the rest. Yet, he had never been with anyone; and when he dreamed of what it might be like to be so close, so intimate with someone, his dreams only went as far as kisses. He wondered vaguely how this dream could feel so real, how it could be so detailed, with him knowing as little as he did--but then, Bertolt’s lips reached his belt, and Reiner chose to think on it later.

He sat up to help Bertolt pull his shirt out. Both of their hands moved with an uncharacteristic clumsiness, and what should have been a simple task took several attempts. Reiner couldn’t help but laugh at how absurd their struggle was with the buckle of his belt in particular. Bertolt’s usually deft fingers fumbled with it, and his own hands offered little help as they knocked against Bertolt’s, still trying to pull the shirt out.  When they finally managed to remove both the shirt and the belt, Bertolt gave an exasperated sigh of relief and threw them both to the floor. Reiner laughed again, this time at the expression on his face. He had rarely seen Bertolt so frustrated. Feeling overwhelmed with affection, he surged forward and brought his lips to Bertolt’s.

His quick movement knocked their noses together, and he almost pulled away to utter a quick apology-- but before he had the chance, Bertolt tilted his head and deepened the kiss, sliding his tongue inside Reiner’ mouth. All thoughts of pulling away vanished.

Without breaking the kiss, he laid back down on the bed, bringing Bertolt down with him.  When they broke apart to regain their breath, Bertolt’s hands moved to his hips. Another silent question in his eyes.

“Yes,” Reiner breathed, and he lifted his hips off the bed to allow Bertolt to pull the rest of his clothes off his body.

After he discarded them onto the floor, Bertolt’s earlier confidence suddenly vanished. He looked away as Reiner adjusted himself on the bed--and when he did return his eyes to Reiner’s body, he kept them glued firmly above his chest.

Reiner wondered at his hesitance. Having shared living quarters for so long, they had seen each other’s naked body countless times before.  

He took Bertolt’s hand in his.  “It’s me,” he said simply. He brought Bertolt’s hand to his chest, laying the palm against his heart, as he had earlier that night. Bertolt nodded, as though to convince himself that yes, it was Reiner. After a few seconds passed, Bertolt moved his hand to begin exploring the rest of Reiner’s body. With the lightest of touches, his fingertips traveled up and down his arms, his chest, his torso. Reiner shivered when his fingers ghosted over his ribs, and again when they reached his thighs. Bertolt seemed to notice the effect, and he applied more pressure, moving the weight of his hand from his fingertips to his palm. Reiner sucked in a breath as he rubbed his thighs in gentle, circular motions. As his hands gained confidence, Reiner closed his eyes, allowing himself to revel in the pleasure mounting again in the pit of his stomach. He moaned when he felt Bertolt replace his hands with his lips, leaving a trail of kisses from the top of his knees to the innermost part of his thigh.

After a few moments passed this way, he felt Bertolt straddle his hips. He opened his eyes and watched as Bertolt brought both of his hands to his lips, kissing the palm of each one, before bringing them to his own chest, just above the first button of his shirt. Understanding immediately, Reiner’s fingers began unbuttoning his shirt. The clumsiness from earlier had thankfully subsided, and his fingers worked with purpose. Once he freed the last button, Bertolt shrugged the shirt off, adding it to their growing pile on the floor.

Looking up at Bertolt from where he laid on the bed, Reiner felt overwhelmed again. He sat up suddenly, and wrapped his arms around him. The two of them used to hug often when they worked in the forest, especially as they slept, and he regretted ever breaking that habit. He rested his cheek against Bertolt’s exposed chest. “I’m sorry,” he whispered. He closed his eyes, listening to his heartbeat. “I’m so sorry, Bertl.” 

He meant his words as an apology for rejecting his touch, but he knew he had so much else to be sorry for. He had abandoned him, after all: he had gone home without him, he had broken his promise to him. Putting an end to their casual touches seemed so small in comparison--yet he apologized for it now, realizing for the first time how much it must have hurt him.

Bertolt carded a hand through Reiner’s hair, gently massaging the back of his head with his fingertips. He then brought his lips to the top of his head, kissing him there, before laying his cheek against his hair.

The sudden intimacy of their embrace caused Reiner’s throat to swell. He recognized Bertolt’s actions as his way of accepting his apology, and he felt tears brimming beneath the surface of his eyes again. Reiner didn’t know what he had done to deserve this, but he would offer sacrifices to whatever deity had allowed this dream to happen.

They stayed like that for a moment: Reiner with his cheek against his chest, and Bertolt with his cheek against the top of his head. After another moment, Reiner’s heartbeat slowed to match Bertolt’s.

When his tears retreated back into his eyes and his throat cleared, Reiner turned his head to press his lips against Bertolt’s exposed chest. He had had his fill of grief. He pushed all thoughts of sadness aside, and focused instead on any part of Bertolt he could reach with his lips. He pressed kisses all over Bertolt’s chest, collarbone, and jawline, trying to imitate the same gentleness that Bertolt had used when he kissed his thighs.

Yet, his thoughts could not be denied. Even as he tried to concentrate on making this figment of Bertolt feel good, his mind drifted to thoughts of the Bertolt he had left behind. Had Bertolt, the real one, ever imagined them like this? When Bertolt envisioned their home in the mountains, had he also imagined them tangled together like this? Reiner wondered how differently their final night may have gone if he had not pushed his hands away. He remembers the intensity with which Bertolt looked at him, remembers matching it with his own. If he had been more honest that night…

Bertolt’s lips suddenly found his. He tilted his head as he had done earlier and slid his tongue into Reiner’s mouth. Reiner moaned into the kiss, and responded in kind.  

 As the intensity of their kiss continued to build, Reiner switched their positions. He turned his hips until he was the one on top, straddling Bertolt. They kissed for some time like that, before Reiner broke the kiss to bring his lips to Bertolt’s neck instead. He had wanted to kiss his pulse earlier, and took that chance now.

He smiled when he felt Bertolt buck against him--but the roughness of his pants against Reiner’s naked legs was uncomfortable. After giving him a quick peck to the cheek, Reiner brought his hand to the front of Bertolt’s pants. “May I?” He asked when their eyes met. Bertolt nodded eagerly. _Please._

Reiner made quick work of the button and zipper. Bertolt arched his back to help Reiner pull his pants and undergarments over his hips, and then kept his legs straight as he pulled it the rest of the way down. When they bunched up by his ankles, he kicked them to the floor.  

Looking at Bertolt, completely naked now on the bed, Reiner understood why he had hesitated earlier. A similar paralysis took ahold of him now. Though he had seen Bertolt naked before, he had never seen him like _this_ : completely vulnerable, without presumption, without disguise.

“You look so beautiful,” he whispered when he found his voice again. Bertolt’s desire shone brightly in his eyes, and he felt humbled to be the object of that gaze. Not a trace of fear or anxiety clouded his face. 

Reiner climbed on top of him. Making sure to not put too much of his weight on Bertolt, he resumed kissing his neck. This time, when Bertolt bucked his hips, their members rubbed directly against each other’s. Moans escaped both their mouths at the contact.

“I love you,” Reiner whispered suddenly, his voice thick with desire. He pulled his face away from Bertolt’s neck so he could look into his eyes. “I love you, Bertl.”

 Bertolt’s eyes shone brightly. _I know_.

Reiner rolled his hips, grinding their members against each other’s again. Bertolt responded in kind, and the two of them soon built a rhythm like that. Reiner lowered himself further, until their chests and torsos touched. Bertolt brought his arms to wrap around him, pulling him even closer until no space at all separated their bodies.

As they grinded against each other, their legs tangled, their hair tousled, Reiner half-expected the dream to vanish. He had never imagined himself like this with anyone, and his dreams of Bertolt never lasted this long.

The urgency to finish before he awoke again drove Reiner to  roll his hips with a new intensity. He saw Bertolt close his eyes and moan loudly at the change, and he took that chance to press kisses along his neck and collarbone once more.

They didn’t last long after that. Bertolt finished first, and Reiner pulled away from his neck to watch him; and the sight of him arching his back and opening his mouth in a wordless pant sent Reiner over the edge right after him. Reiner tried to keep his eyes open as they came together, wanting to memorize how Bertolt looked right then, as he shook underneath him, but the intensity of the pleasure rolling through him proved too powerful.

When he opened his eyes again, Reiner braced himself to see Bertolt gone, the dream ended. Sunlight would be pouring in through his window, and he would get up to start his morning routine. He would have this night only in memory, with all signs of it erased from his room.

Yet, when he opened his eyes, he found Bertolt staring up at him. His eyes still had that same look of soft adoration as before, but satisfaction now replaced the longing. His mouth was slightly open in a pant as he tried to regain his breath, and Reiner could feel his chest rising and falling against his. A thin layer of sweat covered his face, and Reiner swore it made him look as though he were glowing.  

 This was too much. He was too much.

Feeling that words would fail him in this moment, Reiner instead brought his lips to his cheek, his temple, his forehead, then down the other side of his face. He hoped Bertolt felt as precious as he had when he had kissed him this way. He hoped he understood how much he loved him, how much he regretted pushing his hands away that last night they had together.

When his lips reached the corner of Bertolt’s mouth, Bertolt turned his head to capture his lips. Their exhaustion made the kiss almost chaste, just a small pressing of lips together, and they pulled away again to continue catching their breath.

Reiner began to push himself off Bertolt, hoping to give him room to breathe. He may have been an invention of a dream, but his exhaustion felt so real and Reiner didn’t want to stifle him. As he began to roll off him, he suddenly felt Bertolt’s arms around him tighten, pulling him back into place. _Don’t go._  

He could deny him nothing now, not after everything. And so he lowered himself again to Bertolt, covering him almost completely with his body. After a few more moments of adjustment, he finally rested his head on the juncture between Bertolt’s head and shoulder. He inhaled deeply, wanting to remember the smell of sweat and exhaustion that covered them both. 

Bertolt’s arms around him loosened, perhaps now satisfied that he wouldn’t leave. His fingers ghosted up and down his back, and Reiner tried to remember the last time he had felt this content.

~~~~~

When Reiner opened his eyes again, he was facing the window. He blinked several times, and the outline of the mountainside beyond his window came into focus, along with the shades of blue and pink that colored the sky around it.

Dawn was about to break. He would be needed soon.

Reiner rubbed at his eyes with the heel of his hand. If he had fallen asleep near midnight, and woken up now at dawn, then he must have had nearly eight hours of sleep. A rare achievement.

With sleep still clouding his eyes, he pushed himself to a sitting position and swung his legs over the edge of the bed--but before he stood up to start his day, Reiner noticed that his uniform was neatly folded at the foot of his bed. The sight made him realize his own nakedness, and he tried to remember if he had taken his clothes off before going to bed. He never slept so bare, especially in the colder months; but before he could sort through his memory of the previous night, he became aware of the sound of water splashing. Fully awake now, he turned his head sharply to find the source of the sound.

That’s when he saw Bertolt. He stood naked by the water basin, and was wringing out the excess water from one of the washcloths.

Reiner sucked in a breath at the sight. Memories of the previous night suddenly flooded his vision, and he found it hard to breathe. All at once, he remembered the feel of Bertolt’s hand in his, the feel of his lips against his face, then his lips, the sound of their laughter when they struggled to remove his belt, the sound of Bertolt's heartbeat against his chest, the smell of sweat that clung to them, the taste of that sweat as he kissed Bertolt’s neck.

He was truly losing his mind now. He had somehow conjured a likeness of Bertolt to ease his guilt, hadn’t he? He had invented the memories from last night to convince himself that Bertolt would have forgiven him, to convince himself that Bertolt would have kissed him like that, would have loved him like that. He was just as selfish as he had always been, and he had fabricated a new delusion to escape from his role as a warrior. He couldn’t handle the role as a child, and it seemed that he still couldn’t handle it now, after all this time.

The sound of the water splashing pierced through his mind like a bullet. He couldn’t take this anymore. He deserved to lose his Armor, he thought suddenly. How many times had he fallen for his own delusions now? With a mind as broken as his, how could he protect Gabi and the others? They would all be killed or captured at this rate...just like…

He shut his eyes and covered his ears to block everything out. He tried to just concentrate on his breathing, which had become erratic. _I truly am still a child_ , he thought. _Bertolt is not here, not here, not here..._

He gasped when he felt something cold touch his midsection. Despite himself, he opened his eyes to see Bertolt, or the image of Bertolt, this apparition of him, kneeling before him. He had brought the damp washcloth to his midsection to clean away the fluids from last night. Reiner kept his hands over his ears, but watched him nonetheless as he worked.

Bertolt’s hands moved slowly. A scream had been working its way up Reiner’s throat since he heard the splash of the water--but the feel of Bertolt’s slow, firm movements pushed it back down. He felt his heartbeat slow and some of the tension leave his shoulders. His breathing eased. When Bertolt finishing wiping all the fluids off him, he brought a second washcloth to his midsection to dry him. He moved slowly with this too, and Reiner was suddenly reminded of their days on Paradis, when Bertolt would pull him from his soldier persona. He had always been so gentle with him. Even when he had hurt him. Even when he least deserved it.

Reiner removed his hands from his ears. He placed them over Bertolt’s hands, stopping his movement. He didn’t deserve such gentleness, such attention, such care as this.

Light began to filter in through the window. When the rays hit Bertolt, Reiner immediately saw how they seemed to pass through him. He blinked to clear his vision--but then Bertolt was gone. The washcloth he had been using to dry Reiner fell to the floor.

**Author's Note:**

> To be continued...


End file.
